


Fifty-fifty

by Skepsiss



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Junkhog, M/M, Vomit, roadrat - Freeform, trigger if you think vomit is gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8686246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skepsiss/pseuds/Skepsiss
Summary: (So this cute little anon asked for a fic to do with vomiting. So this is the fic! Also the warning if you don’t like that. It isn’t a kink, it is just Rat suffering from radiation sickness and Hog being there for him. Also this takes an especially important meaning cause to me “fifty-fifty” mean I love you)





	

Junkrat pushed at the back of is tooth with his tongue, the darn thing wiggling as he felt the acid sting his gums. He had been sick a lot lately, and he had managed to keep it under wraps from Roadhog. Go get us some food mate. Man do I need a beer! Nawh, I ain’t going out, I got plans to look at.  
It wasn’t easy to get Roadhog out away from him, but for short periods he could manage and he’d retch in the span that he had. But his sickness was getting worse, and his damn teeth were starting to rot because of his stomach acid.   
Was there a god damn break? He had already lost two of his teeth, and they were mercifully replaced with gold ones—but soon enough he’d be more metal then man. Wouldn’t that be the day? A damn walking Omnic with a flesh heart. 

Junkrat pushed at the back of his tooth, wiggling it as he thought and felt his stomach turning. He hadn’t been able to hold anything down for nearly a week now, and he was starting to run out of excuses to run to a washroom, or stop on the side of the road. ‘Hog was gunna see him puke sooner or later, and though it wasn’t an unknown side effect and they had both seen each other retch in the past, ‘Rat couldn’t think of a reason to bother him with this. He had a job: keep ‘Rat safe. Cooing at a man with an upset gut wasn’t part of that, and it just felt… weak to put him through that.  
Spews over beer and a laugh was one thing, but vomiting because of a damn illness was another. 

Plus, he wasn’t sick. He was just a condition of the Outback.   
Junker curse.   
Poison Gut.   
He’d made it through this. He had every other time. The radiation sickness only lasted a couple weeks after all. 

 

“Got any more water, mate?” The younger asked for the third time that day. They were drilling through water—running out faster than normal—because ‘Rat could feel himself getting dehydrated. Hell, his vomit was coming up green, which meant bile. That was no good. 

“No.” ‘Hog grunted out, shifting on the seat of his bike as they sat on the corner of the road. They were stopped at some pathetic pit-stop; middle of nowhere gas pump where a few Junkers had set up shop. It was nothing really; maybe a dozen people, a shop with half empty shelves, gas, and a little prostitute house for people passing through. The house could almost pass for a motel; expect ‘Rat was sure that each room belonged to one of the boys or girls that worked there. 

“Well shit, dun we got enough cash to go buy some?” Junkrat groaned, wiping his hand over his face as he felt his throat clench. He was thirsty, and he was going to puke again soon if he didn’t get something to coat his throat. 

“None here,” Mako retorted, turning to face the younger, legs still straddling his bike.   
“Fuckin’ Christ. Hows a god damn place not got any water on it? Seems like a damn necessity if you ask me!” Jamie slouched, hands balancing on the top of his knees as he crouched on the side of the road. Clouds of dust rolled passed them as they sat, ‘Rat letting the sun beat down on him.  
‘Hog was eyeing him, he had been eyeing him for the past week now, but he hadn’t said anything yet. This wasn’t how Junkrat acted, and he knew that, but there had been no evidence just yet to get the man to act.   
“Got beer.” Roadhog offered, belly jiggling as he leaned on the handlebars of his bike.   
“Fuck,” the younger replied, spitting on the ground and using it as an excuse to get that taste of acid out of his mouth.   
Roadhog would never ask; he’d never utter those words: are you okay? It wasn’t the type of tenderness they had for one another. Well, it wasn’t the tenderness they showed one another. Neither of them were soft people; they were born and breed in a hard world and they acted like it. Even when Jamie’s guts were like rubber and Mako’s eyes almost seemed to stain the inside of his mask.

Junkrat was rubbing under his nose now, unable to hold back the turning much longer. His stomach was turning with the little bits of food he had picked at this morning. Roadhog had cooked, well, the best you could over an open fire with stolen meat. But it was food, and they didn’t get anything but cans usually so it was a treat. But it was turning in his stomach now; he could feel the sausages that ‘Hog had picked out especially for him. The watery eggs cooked in the tire rim, and the sad excuse for hash on the side. He had picked and Roadhog had eyed him, but he hadn’t said anything. Shit, but now it was turning and ‘Rat wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it all down. 

“I gotta piss,” Junkrat proclaimed, standing up suddenly. He stretched quickly, trying to make the act less desperate before he walked into the little corner store. He limped away, body clenching still as he felt that tightness in his throat spread. Gods, he could feel it in his chest—right behind the lungs, behind the heart—where it just kinda sat like a little ball of fire.   
He hobbled through the doors, pushing open the cracked glass and being greeted by the tinkling of a bell. He walked straight to the back, the cashier perking up and scowling at him.  
“Shitter is fur payin’ customer only, mate.”  
“Fuck off!” ‘Rat yelled over his shoulder, waving a hand wildly as his steps grew more desperate. “I’ll buy a fuckin’ pop when I’m out.”  
With that he was across the shop, the bare bones little store reminding him too much of his guts as he pushed into the single stall room and huddled to the toilet in desperation. Hadn’t even enough time to lock the door before he was puking, the filmy chunks spewing out of him as he bumped his head into the back of the seat.   
Smelt fouler in here then a gym bag, but Jamie hardly noticed as his own rotting gut forced him to spew out the last of his food—and then some.   
He wasn’t opposed to puking on the streets, but if he could avoid Mako all the better. He didn’t need him worrying. Not over this. 

Junkrat’s hands were clutching the porcelain; his metal fingers scratching the already dull white shine. Shit though, his guts hurt, and man did he just keep going. There was no food left and he was vomiting still—belly tight, eyes closed as he near sobbed out the green fluid. Bile, and snot and everything his body could muster. 

The washroom door swung open with a bang, making the little room shake and ‘Rat would have turned if he wasn’t so desperately clinging to the toilet.   
A heavy huff came from behind him as he door squeaked shut again, Roadhog’s heavy feet making their way over to the younger. There was no mistaking that lumbering walk, but Jamie tried to look over his shoulder anyways at the man.   
“Oh, hey,” he sputtered, his voice much weaker then he would have thought. Shit, the acid was eating away at his vocal chords now, making him sound like an abused mouse.   
Mako just huffed, taking a knee beside the man and placing a large palm on his back.   
‘Rat batted him away, smiling into the toilet water. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” He lied, coughing gently, some stray film flying from his mouth and hitting the rim.   
“Just a touch ill,” he tired, wanting more than anything to have Roadhog leave. He didn’t want him here; he didn’t want to trouble him with this too.   
But Roadhog didn’t move, he just knelt there in the shit and the spray and the foul smelling shithole with him, hand on his back.   
Junkrat spat and tried to stand, wanting to show he was fine before his body was punched once again with the sickness. His shoulder shaking as he retched again—or tried as it came up empty. There was nothing left, but he still choked and coughed into the bowl.   
“Shit…” he mumbled between spits, his mouth dry and arms shaking as he tried to hold on.   
‘Hog drew long fingers along his spine, his thumb reaching up to rub the back of Jamie’s neck as they sat there. The little sputter of the broken sink in the background, and ‘Rat’s halting coughing filling the room.  
“Sorry mate…” the younger commented, letting his head droop as he attempted a smile. “I threw up your breakfast. Shit… sorry.”  
Jamie laughed the sound bitter and strained as he loomed over the toilet rim.   
“Sorry,” he mumbled again, this time the words coupled with tears. But, he was too dry to cry—nothing came. Just the hiccups and scrunched up face as he heaved again. He hated this. He hated this so much. Fucking Gut Poison; he was gunna be sick like this for life fucking Christ. He had done it alone before, but he felt so pathetic now as he pushed his head against the back of the toilet and clung on for dear life. But there was Roadhog, coaxing him gently with those big hands. One thumb rubbing into his hair and the other hand resting patiently on his thigh. God— ‘Rat owed so much to those hands. So much pain, so much pleasure… so much life. He had picked him cause of his hands, and what he could do with them, but lord he didn’t know it went this far. His calluses rubbing up his back and soothing his tired body. He was worn out, he was tired of all of this, and it felt like his body was giving up, but there was Roadhog. Just standing there with a touch too gentle to belong to a man that big. 

“Sorry,” the Junker sputter again, coughing hard as his body tried to get rid of more.   
“Don’t.” ‘Hog replied, his voice hushed as the long strokes of his fingers grew steadier. “Not your fault.”

And Junkrat could really cry right there. To get that even as his body betrayed him; even now he thought about the fact that his arm, and his leg and even his damn teeth had left him behind. How he was slowly spreading himself thin over all of Australia, but there was Roadhog, holding him together with the steady strokes of his hand. Someone that hadn’t left for once, and wasn’t leaving even as he puked up his guts. 

“Fifty-fifty,” Junkrat blubbered, his words strained despite not having enough to cry.  
“Fifty-fifty,” Roadhog repeated, slowly taking off his mask and reaching for one of his canisters of Hogdrogen.


End file.
